


Paper Thin

by distantstarlight



Series: Perspectives [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Infidelity, Inner Dialogue, Just a little jotting, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not actually cheating, Other, POV John Watson, Sadness, Series 4, Series 4 Spoilers, bad decision making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 09:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9174070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: John Watson has been given a series of numbers and one capital letter E. What is a married man to do when a pretty lady tries to pull him?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So okay, I had serious issues with John being a bit of trash for this episode. I'm sorry if other people interpreted it differently but for me it was quite awful. John's character has always been one of unspoken honor, and yet here he is, allowing a strange woman to hit on his very married self...
> 
> There will likely be more to this since obviously I don't know the entire story YET but also I can't wait for later. I could be entirely wrong, we can't tell yet, but in case I'm right, I want the story out there. At any rate, a good scientist can always adjust things when new facts arise and change the landscape of the matter. 
> 
> Lastly, I know I'm unreasonable regarding my dislike of Mary, but even with that, to me there's almost nothing worse than infidelity. That's me though. Lots of people have different ideas and feelings about how personal relationships ought to play out.

A woman was smiling at him from across a crowded bus. It was clichéd and suspicious and John felt _incredible_ because of it. _A pretty woman was making eyes at him_. It felt pretty darn good. John had barely woken up from the exhausted doze he’d had. He’d managed a record three hours in a semi-sleep, the best he’d done since the baby arrived. He felt worn out, tired to the bone, and under-appreciated. He had bags under his eyes, record length hair from not having time to get it trimmed, a new wife to look after, and a tiny baby to raise, and it seemed like the absolutely everything came last after them.

What about John?

No he’d signed on for life. He’d made promises, and John Watson did not break promises. He had an entire life that this pretty woman knew nothing about. Guilt niggled at him, but it was just a look and a smile, right? No harm. It was like old times, his skills as smooth as ever as he exchanged another brief but meaningful glance. By the time his feet were on the kerb she was scrawling her number on a scrap she’d torn from a take-away bag before dashing away, all pink cheeks and bashful smiles. She was rounded and long haired, ginger with a touch of sunlight, just like he preferred. In fact, everything about her was right up John’s street, and with some regret he turned his back and made himself walk toward a nearby bin.

He was going to throw it away. He shouldn’t have accepted it in the first place, he knew that. Guilt twanged at him again but just as he was going to toss the scrap away, his eyes caught a milky stain on his sleeve. _Formula_. Rosie’s bottle making ritual had clearly earned John another piece of laundry. _He was so tired of laundry. He was so tired of coming home from work and washing up the flat because Mary had been taking care of the baby alone all day and needed a nap. He needed a nap too but never said so_. John was so tired that he barely had the energy to get through his day, falling into bed each night next to Mary, only interested in closing his eyes and grabbing what rest he could, nestled into the wrong side of the bed because Mary wanted to be two steps closer to the nursery. They shared a blanket but never touched, not even their hands, carefully keeping to their half of their marriage bed as if a wall had sprung up between them.

It was as close to intimacy as they ever got to. It had been months since John had even tried to touch Mary in a marital way. He just couldn’t do it. She’d lied to him so awfully, her past had tripped him up so terribly, he just didn’t know how to trust anyone any longer. He couldn’t even deal with Sherlock anymore. The man seemed more keen on being with John’s wife than being with John. They were supposed to be best friends! Instead his relationship with Mary had soured every other friendship he had. He was lonely again, an irony he couldn’t fail to appreciate since he was freshly married, still sort of working with Sherlock on cases, and employed full time at a clinic of his own. He should be blisteringly sickeningly happy.

He wasn’t. John was anything but happy. He was tired and miserable. He was exhausted and worn down from trying to get through every day. Being a new father was far more exhausting than he’d anticipated, and it took up every spare moment, and much more. John thought of the woman’s bright smile and sincere admiration. She’d thought him handsome, good looking enough to give her private number to, even if it had made her run away in embarrassment. She had a pretty blush and a nice everything else. It made him feel like his old self, a feeling he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.

Later that day he was going to throw the number away again. Instead he logged it into his mobile, and sent her a text, just a simple “ _Hey_.” It was wrong. He knew it as soon as he did it but there was no way to call back those three innocent letters, their simplicity a mere mask for the treachery they actually meant. _The woman didn’t know him, didn’t know his obligations nor the promises he’d sworn to keep. Mary was right there in the next room. She was changing Rosie, and it was his turn to feed their daughter._ Turning the mobile face down, he left his sin behind and went to care for his child.

He shouldn’t have answered her back. He knew it. He did though. It made him feel ashamed but also alive. Someone out there thought he was interesting, and maybe a bit sexy. It had been so long since he’d been sexual with anyone. He hadn’t been with Mary that way since she’d…John couldn’t even complete the thought. His wife was _available_ to him, she’d told him she loved him and seemed to mean it. As far as he could see, Mary was devoted to him. Sherlock certainly believed her so, and that in and of itself made him feel awkward. He didn’t want Mary and Sherlock to get on. He didn’t want Sherlock to tell him to his face how much better Mary was, that he skills were more useful, and that he’d rather rely on her than John.

It bothered him a lot but there was no one to tell. His _almost_ friendship with Lestrade had faltered and died somewhere after the wedding, and Mike Stamford had moved on to teach at a university far away. They were the sum total of people John might have felt close enough to confess to, not that confessions were necessary, not for grabbing a coffee with someone. A walk in the park was perfectly innocent too, no touching, lots of public scrutiny, and damn, did it ever feel good to have such a pretty lady smile up at him, and giggle, and toss her hair, and linger over her sips so John could appreciate the redness of her painted lips.

Mary was _grateful_ when he began to volunteer with the baby in the evenings. It assuaged the guilt while also fanning it higher. Walking the baby made it easy for him to justify texting late into the night with E. He told her he was a private consultant, which in a way was true, and that his job sometimes took him out of the country. This convenient confession helped him when he did indeed have to leave England for sunnier climes, following his wife across the country by way of a tracking device. The bitterness inside grew as he confronted Mary. She didn’t trust him. Mary didn’t believe in him. Once again she’d allowed her past to make her decisions for all of them. Once again, she lied and hid and manipulated. All he wanted was a simple life, with wife and home, a place to raise his child and be a regular man. Instead he had an international terrorist for a wife, one who had effortlessly procured a half dozen functional disguises just to get here.

This was precisely why E had become such an irresistible lure. Mary just could not leave her past behind the way she said she wanted to. In a way it was the same with Sherlock. His once best friend seemed less and less interested in interacting with John in any meaningful way. He’d tested it once, drawing his own face onto a helium balloon, and leaving it tied to a book on his old chair. Sherlock hadn’t noticed, and kept speaking to the balloon for days, even after it wilted and flopped over. John felt grim again, used up and worthless. John knew that no matter how Mary felt about him, or their daughter, she would always choose her old life first, no matter what she had to tell herself to legitimize it, just like Sherlock would always choose the work. John would never be first in either of their lives, but maybe with E... John stopped his pointless musing. Mary clearly wasn’t interested in building anything with John, but that was irrelevant. They were married, that was it. She wanted to keep her secrets secret until she was interested again. _Was_ _John supposed to spend the rest of his life being made to wait on both her as well as Sherlock? How was he to do that and look after Rosie too?_ He was but one man, and it felt like all the people he cared about had other, better things in their lives.

John wanted that too. He wanted to be better. He was back in London when he finally decided to end it with E. Nothing had happened between them, but that was just window dressing. Lying to himself didn’t make it right, didn’t make it okay. John composed his text and, with only slight hesitation, sent it off. Satisfied, he stepped off the bus and back onto the street. E was there, and her smile was as warm and inviting as ever.

John felt all his resistance crumble. He wanted this. He deserved this. At the very same moment John was inundated with images [of incidents in the past](http://from-scarlet-to-pink.tumblr.com/post/155310779449/let-me-just-point-this-out). Oh god. John felt humiliated. _He was being baited._ He smiled into her eyes and accepted her invitation for coffee and another walk, but said farewell, giving no indication that he’d be returning calls or meeting her again. The light dimmed in her eyes as he walked away but he felt better about himself. He’d toyed with fire but hadn’t actually taken the plunge. Someone had dandled a pretty in front of him, and nearly made his old weakness pay off. John had clearly tarnished his honor but not lost it completely. The guilt was still there, but it was a pale reminder of what was possible if he went ahead and let his cock do his thinking for him. He walked away with his head held high, and his dignity in more or less one piece.

Sherlock read the entire fiasco out to him the second he went to 221 B Baker Street alone, “You’re attempting infidelity against Mary.” Sherlock looked forbidding, “Why?”

John felt ashamed all over again, and wouldn’t look at Sherlock. “I’m not.”

Sherlock looked extremely skeptical and then did what he always did, he spelled the entire almost-sordid affair out right from the moment John had met E, to the real reason he’d come by the flat, “You knew she was a trap.”

John nodded, “Everyone knows I like the ladies a little too much.” Sherlock’s face twisted a bit for a heartbeat, but instantly resumed his resting think face, “Sherlock?”

“I’m doubting Moriarty.” John blinked. This wasn’t what he’d thought to hear, “I was released in order to track Moriarty but all I am finding are ordinary cases, large ones to be sure, but nothing that has the right kind of flair.” He felt silent for a moment, “I fear there is another player, a more powerful player, one the likes we have never yet faced.”

John was heartened by the word we. “What do you mean?”

Sherlock looked at him, “Someone knows how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.” John reeled a bit here, but Sherlock gave him no time to speak a word, “They know that your relationship with Mary is at it’s shakiest, and it’s not only due to Rosie. Someone who knows these things and knows enough about us to use our weaknesses against us is powerful, and powerful enough to circumvent the many levels of protection our two homes enjoy. This is no time for games John, mend fences with Mary. She’s your wife, the one _you_ chose. I will do all I can to protect you both, and the baby. I promised.” With that, Sherlock turned him away, sending him back to the home he shared with his exhausted wife.

He tried to tell Mary. There were so many things he needed to tell her. There were too many lies between them, too many words unspoken, too many stories untold. They’d never have time now, they barely had seconds as it was. Mary gasped out her last, and John was so stunned by everything that he couldn’t make words form. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell angrily. He wanted to roar and wail and bellow and make every sound in the world to express his grief and distress but it all caught in his throat in a miserable grunting whine that he could not control. Rage filled him. _Everything was wrong. Sherlock was wrong. His love of the game had brought them to this. People who had ordered those like Mary around had made this happen. Somewhere there was a puppet master who had engineered all of this and had cost John his wife. What was he to do? How was he to raise his daughter and avenge Mary? Who could he trust?He had so much anger in him, so much guilt, so much mistrust. What were his choices?_

He made his decision. Closing the door on his past, he made the same promise Mary had. The new John Watson wasn't going to be like the old John Watson. The new John Watson was a widowed father of one, and he had no business endangering himself for fun, just to solve cases with a madman. John severed all his old ties, only accepting help from Molly because he had no one else, and she'd insisted. Mrs. Hudson could never be turned away either, but everyone else...well, they had their lives to lead and so did John.

Message sent and received.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've lost my bloody mind. Nothing makes any sense anymore.


End file.
